


In Another World And People Keep Taking My Clothes Off

by Exstarsis



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Clothed Sex, F/M, Female Gaze, Multi, Self-Insert, Semi-Public Sex, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26054686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exstarsis/pseuds/Exstarsis
Summary: It’s the usual story: pulled from your ordinary life into being the protagonist of some game you played. It’s been fun and you’re starting to feel like you’ve settled in. The Servants are all just like you remember them.Well, maybe not exactly like you remember them.
Relationships: Arthur Pendragon (Alter) | Saber/Reader, Enkidu | False Lancer/Reader, Gilgamesh | Archer/Reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 100





	1. Scene 2C: Meeting Gilgamesh In A Corridor

**Author's Note:**

> This is an expansion of something I posted last night with a similar title.

Gilgamesh’s lip curls when you cheerfully greet him in the corridor. “That is not how you greet a king. You greet a king with _respect_.” He looks you over. “And you clearly need to learn respect. I must teach you.”

He snaps his fingers and chains shoot out from the Gate of Babylon to wrap around your arms and legs, holding you against the corridor wall. Indignantly you struggle, and the chains, far warmer than ordinary metal, slither as they adjust to you. 

The King takes your chin in his hand, turning your head this way and that before running his thumb over your lips. Your struggles fade as mild surprise becomes shock. The Gilgamesh you remember would have scorned to even touch you. His ruby eyes glint as you catch your breath. “Too late now, mongrel.” He pushes his thumb between your lips. “You’re lucky you amuse me sometimes or I’d simply kill you.”

You taste his salty-sweet skin briefly, before he pulls away. With a motion so swift you don’t see it, he pulls your top open, revealing your bra. 

“Disrespectful,” he mutters, and a tiny blade slices through the band. You stare, amazed, at his golden eyelashes and the lean planes of his face as he studies your body. Is this really happening?

Then he slides his hands over your freed breasts, and you are _definitely_ not in Kansas anymore. His hands are warm and smooth as they caress your soft skin and you’re suddenly keenly aware of the coolness of the air where he isn’t touching you. He holds each globe in a hand, as if weighing them, and then nods to himself. When your nipples stiffen in response to his study, he almost smiles, before catching one between his teeth. His tongue flicks over it, tasting it as you tasted his thumb. After that, he switches to the other one, while drawing circles over the first with his fingers.

You bite your lip, suppressing a whimper of pleasure and need. He releases you, flattening both your breasts with his palms as he stares down into your eyes, his own snapping with displeasure. “Did I not say I would teach you to respect your King?”

You open your mouth to argue with him and he steals your words by kissing you, his tongue thrusting into your mouth and dominating your own. As he does, the chains, warm and smooth, slide across your chest, moving erotically over the tips of your breasts. A hot ache grows between your legs and you squirm against Gilgamesh’s thigh as he presses it against you.

Finally, he releases your mouth. “Give me only your cries of respect, mongrel. We will show you what a pitiful thing your self-control is.” You’re too dazed to respond, which doesn’t seem to surprise him.

He again studies your body as his hands stroke down your torso. Under your skirt, his exploring hands encounter your panties and his face darkens once more. Then his eyes flash and your panties are gone. (You never find them again.) He slides his palm against your mound and probes your slick core.

Meanwhile, those chains across your breasts have never really stopped moving, and the way they drag against your nipples is almost maddening. Gilgamesh withdraws two wet fingers from inside you. “You see, your body knows respect. Learn to listen to it.” 

Then he smears your juices across your clit and you nearly orgasm on the spot—but not quite, not until the chains tighten as your body does, and teeth nip your ear, tearing the orgasm from you. You throw your head back, gasping and twitching, as pleasure radiates from your core outward. Only as the moment of bliss fades then do you realize that it is Enkidu who holds you splayed open for his friend, rolling your nipples between his fingers as he presses you against his chest. “I want to play too, Gil.”

A light touches the King’s crimson eyes, but he says sternly, “This is not playtime. We are teaching this mongrel an important lesson about respect.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” mutters Enkidu, his breath tickling your ear. His fingers have never stopped teasing you, while Gilgamesh continues to stroke your clit like he’s absently petting a cat. The overlapping bolts of pleasure make thinking impossible. “Whatever. I’m going to help.” 

Something moves against your inner thigh and what you thought was another loop of chain is not. It presses, hot and hard, against your hole—and then, with a shifting of his grip, Enkidu pushes his cock deep inside you. Your juices coat his thickness as he moves within you and you groan softly as you feel every inch of him.

“Mmm. You sure you don’t want some of this, Gil?” Enkidu’s voice sounds dreamy. 

The King waved his free hand (his other hand is still fondling you). “Why would I reward the insolence of a mongrel by sullying myself thus?” 

Enkidu shifts you forward, just a little, moving even deeper inside you, and a spasm of sensation makes your whole body tremble. “Well, good, because I honestly don’t know that I want to share right now.”

Gilgamesh smiles. “If you at least enjoy yourself, I will know this session wasn’t an entire waste. Meanwhile, I shall return to my work.” 

Apparently, ‘work’ translates into Gilgamesh kissing you more as Enkidu thrusts, while keeping his hand busy down below. Together the two heroes work you over until each deep stroke of Enkidu’s shaft against the rim of your hole is a white hot explosion of pleasure. His cock seems to get bigger and bigger, as his breath rasps in your ear and he shoves himself almost frantically against you. 

But Gilgamesh never loses his meticulous, patterned approach. His tongue twines around yours before relentlessly pushing it down, showing you your place. Then he moves to your neck and shoulder, leaving clear marks behind. If you could think, you’d definitely be developing ideas on what he likes—but you can’t think, because the two of them together are fucking your brains out in the public hallway. Your whimpers and whines and yelps echo down the corridor, punctuating the the rhythm of Enkidu’s pounding and Gilgamesh’s occasional sounds of disapproval. 

By the time you hear Enkidu speaks again, you feel like nothing more than a jelly dedicated to conducting bolts of pleasure. “I don’t think she’s going to scream before she passes out, Gil.“

Gilgamesh lifts his head from the breast he’d been suckling and regards you with a critical eye. “Tch. You might be right. Stubborn mongrel. Perhaps with more training.” 

He rubs his thumb one last time across the softness of your breast. Then he steps back, gesturing. Enkidu withdraws from you and sets you on your feet, smoothing down your skirt neatly and closing your top back up. Like magic, from the outside everything about you looks almost normal.

As soon as Enkidu releases you, you stagger, exhausted and distantly aching. Your mind is still mostly the sparkling lights of the nonstop orgasm you just had. If the King is expecting something from you now, you have no idea what it is.

But Gilgamesh smiles indulgently as you rebound drunkenly off a wall. “If you’ve learned anything today, try being respectful next time we meet. Perhaps I’ll have a reward for you. If not…” He laughs to himself. 

Then, with a nod at Enkidu, he continues his stroll with his friend without giving you a single backward look.

  
  



	2. Scene 3a: Enkidu Encore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enkidu wants more.

You wake up two nights after that dreamlike encounter in the back corridors of Chaldea. It is dark, and somebody is crouched on the foot of your bed. His eyes gleam like peridot, and his scanty white garb lends him the air of a ghost.

Half-awake, you think of enemies faced while deployed, and try to remember what Servants are with you. But this isn’t outdoors, this isn’t a strange bed—

“Wake up, quiet girl,” says Enkidu softly. “I want to fuck you again.”

“Enkidu?” You sit up, and he leans forward on one palm, moving as lithely as a tiger, staring at you.

Then he settles back again. “Gil’s wrong. You are kind of pretty. Not that it matters. I’m not interested in your face. Well, maybe your mouth.”

That dreamlike afternoon comes back to you and you realize exactly what Enkidu’s after: more of the same. Instinctively, you pull your sheet high on your chest.

He snorts as you do.“Aw, come on. You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy what we did the other day. You didn’t even try to refuse after Gil touched you. I was paying attention.”

You swallow, dry-mouthed. “Why? That was… that was Gilgamesh’s… lesson.” It sounds stupid, but this world is a lot more complicated than you thought. While you can’t deny (or even regret) what happened to you, internalizing it as _a whim of King Gilgamesh_ makes it almost understandable. But this…

“Sure. But _I_ wasn’t trying to teach you anything. I think you’re pretty fun exactly as you are, and I want more.” He leans forward on his hands, until he’s crouched in a way that makes it impossible to forget his wild origins.

Your nipples harden at the way he looks at you, and at first you can’t remember what you were going to say. And then—

The voice of responsibility escapes you. “I don’t think we should? I mean, that’s not how the game—that’s not how things go.” You eye him, doubtful about how he’ll take the rebuff.

He purses his lips briefly, and then shrugs. “Well, asking consent is kind of a formality. I mean… you might have had an interesting reason we shouldn’t. But seriously, do you think I asked Shamhat for consent before I fucked her for seven days straight?” He grins. “But she still got exactly what she wanted.”

The grin, and his words, send a thrill of heat through you. Without conscious thought, you let the sheet slip from your chest. You’re wearing pajamas underneath, of course, but Enkidu takes it as an implicit invitation.

He comes closer, until he’s kneeling on your legs. As light as the wind, he touches your face: your nose, your cheekbones, your ear. You shiver as he strokes the shell of your ear.

Still, responsibility. You may have come here from somewhere else, but you know what’s expected of you. You know what’s coming (or at least you thought you did).

So you protest. “It might make things complicated. And it’s probably against the rules. Fraternization and all that.”

He tweaks your nose. “Don’t be silly. No rule like that binds me. I’m your weapon, quiet girl.” His hand slides behind your head. “And more importantly, I’ve already been inside you. I only wanted to know if there was any reason I shouldn’t be again.”

But clearly you’d already answered that to your satisfaction, and he doesn’t give you time to waste your breath further. Instead, he kisses you.

It isn’t like Gilgamesh’s deliberate dominance, although it’s just as much an attack. More so, for within a short time, your mouth stings and bleeds as he uses his teeth as much as anything else. He even seems to enjoy the taste of your blood, from the way his tongue returns again and again to a particular spot.

You can’t fight back, you can’t even move. He holds the back of your head, his fingers twisted in your hair as he balances himself on the other: half animal, half man. Just the one hand to hold you, but the truth is that even when you taste your own blood, you can’t imagine escaping. You could make him stop, of course, he’d even hinted at that. But—

—but then he’d stop. And you can’t help but be curious about what Shamhat experienced with him, so long ago.

At last he seems satisfied by kissing you, pulling away. He has a half-smile as he returns once more to lick your lips, and then he inspects you, as if you’re a present he’s ready to unwrap.

As he hooks a finger into your pajama top, he says, “This… is really unnecessary. Why do you always wear so many different clothes, quiet girl? Don’t they just get in the way?”

You huff indignantly. “Don’t tease me. Gilgamesh changes his clothes five times a day sometimes.”

Casually, with barely more than a single finger, he unbuttons your top. “But teasing you is part of the fun. And Gil never hides behind his clothes. He just likes the styles.”

Your shirt hangs open, baring your breasts. But Enkidu puts both his hands around your waist, right above the elastic of your pajama shorts, stroking around your navel with his smooth thumbs. The sensation is a little bit ticklish but also turns you on so much you clench your thighs together and wriggle without conscious will.

“I do kind of like you like this,” said Enkidu, looking at your torso, still with that half-smile. He traces the top of your shorts with his thumb. “I think on our next mission you should go out just like this.”

“Uh—!” you say cleverly, still mostly distracted by the heat between your legs. Then what he said penetrates (alas only that) and your eyes widen. “Like this? Don’t you think that might cause problems?”

“For who?” he said, raising dancing eyes to meet your own. “It’d be fun seeing how the Servants reacted. I bet a lot more of them would want to fuck you. You’d never be bored!”

Your voice is almost shrill as you say, “Missions aren’t for sex, they’re for saving the world!”

He leans in and licks your nose, bites your lip again, as he shifts forward on your legs. “You worry too much about that.”

There’s no possible way to argue with that, especially as he adjusts himself so something hard presses right above your mound. Just a little shift in position and you can push your aching core against him, though the cloth of your shorts will interfere.

His hands come up to cup your breasts as he leans forward to nibble on your ear. Gasping a little, you say, “Gilgamesh didn’t like my underwear. I still haven’t found them.”

The nibble becomes a bite, sharp and hard. “Gil is my best friend, but I’m not him, you know.”

Talking is a bit harder as your breath gets shorter, but it helps to keep from really internalizing what you’re doing. “I wouldn’t want to cause the two of you to fight, though…”

That makes him pull away and straighten up, looking at you with an incredulous expression. “Why not? Fighting with Gil is pretty much my favorite thing to do.”

“About underwear?” you say, just as incredulous.

“About the last bottle of a local beer, about whether an actor did a good job, or a poet deserves to be punished, about the most interesting way to kill a monster, about his stupid laws, all sorts of things. Last week we fought over whether that spaceship show was any good. The clothing of our favorite toy? We’ll absolutely fight over that.” He licks your other ear and then whispers, “I’ll win, too.”

His words send a shiver down your spine. Words, words. They calm you. “Did you like the spaceship show, or did he?” Inane, but the way his tongue is circling your ear as his fingers finally start inching down your pajama shorts…You have to say something to maintain your sense of self-control.

Enkidu focuses on your ear for a time instead of answering. He doesn’t use his teeth quite as much as he did on your mouth, as if he respects its purpose more. But as his fingers trace across your bare ass and he has to move himself to finish stripping you, he finally answers. “It made me laugh. And it looked like everybody had fun making it. I mean, sure, a well-told story is important, but it’s okay to just enjoy yourself sometimes. Gil forgets that a lot.”

He tosses your shorts in a corner, sits back on the bed, and drags you onto him while his own white rags vanish. “I’m going to fuck you now, quiet girl.”

Breathlessly, you ask, “Just like you did Shamhat? Because I don’t think we have seven days—”

He pulls your breasts against his chest as he shifts below you, his cock sliding slickly against your outer core. “It wasn’t actually seven days non-stop. She was only human, and she had to recover sometimes. We talked then, kind of like this. About literature and music and stuff. And I looked pretty different at first, too. But she didn’t care a bit.” He has a fond, reminiscing smile.

Then, without warning, a jerk of his hips sends his cock sliding into you again. It feels even larger than it did the other afternoon, and a quiet moan escapes you.

He moves against you, rocking his hips. “Are you going to scream tonight, quiet girl? Remember, it’s okay to enjoy yourself.” And as if he’s underscoring a point, he pinches your nipple.

You shake your head, finally beyond words as you ride him. His hands skim over your body as he encourages you. “You have so much energy, and a lot endurance. And you’re so hot as you squeeze around me. I bit your lips for you, but these whines… Yeah. I want to fuck you a lot, quiet girl. You can sleep tomorrow. Daylight sleep is better anyhow.”

As your back arches, and ecstasy explodes through you, you think very distantly of the planned investigative mission you have in two days. And then you sag against him, so relaxed you’re almost asleep again. Dreamily, you realize you really can’t decide if you should be wearing underwear on the investigative mission or not…

And then Enkidu shifts you, moving you around until you’re on your elbows and knees. “You’re curious, right? Well, mostly, I fucked Shamhat like this on the first night.”

This time, he does all the work, driving his muscular hips against your ass, and once again you’re shoved off a precipice into a raging sea of pleasure. The night, already dreamlike, becomes even more unreal, as Enkidu simply doesn’t stop, until the automatic morning lights come on.

At that point, he tenderly stretches you out on the bed. “I stole this from Gil,” he confides, and smears a salve on the parts of you that would be agonizing if your nerves remembered pain. After, he wraps you in your pajama top again, buttoning it closed, before tucking you in. As he takes care of you, the echoes of orgasm, uncomfortably intense, slowly fade. By the time Enkidu leaves your room, taking your pajama shorts with him, you are asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a disappointing and emotional couple of days and I wanted to write something to distract me from all that. So here I am, it's 2 AM, and I hope you found something to enjoy in the results.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and for your support. It helps a lot these days. Sometimes I feel like the only thing I can do in the world is stuff like this. Silly, I know. But it's 2am and that's all I've got.


	3. Scene 5d: Arthur Pendragon (Alter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're out in a pseudo-singularity one night, and one by one, your Servants go missing.

You are camped in yet another pseudo-singularity, on the edge of a sparse forest, when one by one your attending Servants begin to vanish. First, it is those on patrol, and then the handful gathered around the fire. Tired from the day’s battles, you stare into the fire, not even realizing there’s a problem until there’s only two left.

Inshun gives Benkei a pointed look before he too strides into the darkness to investigate the disappearance of the others. A moment later, you can hear a scrape of metal and a cry of pain. Benkei gives you a pleading look and you return a worried nod; he leaps beyond the circle of the firelight to help his friend.

They do not return.

You sit on your bedroll staring at nothing, trying to decide what to do. You have one Command Seal left; you should have used it on Inshun, on Benkei—and is it now too late? You just don’t know. If they are fighting still, perhaps you would only make things worse.

So you wait, feeling the warmth of the low fire on your face and the chill of the night against your back. In the distance, you can hear the howl of the monsters you spent all day fighting. You weren’t worried about them with your Servants around you, but now…

In the darkness comes the clink of chain, and you shiver. The humid warmth of the day has become colder than you could have imagined. You crawl over to the supply of firewood and grab a chunk and then, as you turn to throw it onto the fire, you see a gleam from the corner of your vision: the glint of firelight on golden eyes.

With a squeak you leap back to your bedroll. He steps out of the darkness: the figure in black you’ve seen from a distance a few times during your days in this singularity. His stained sword is out, but lowered; a bead of dark fluid runs down to the tip as he looks at you.

Then he smiles and moves to the other side of the fire, where he settles down. When he speaks, his voice is light and pleasant. “Ahh. A fire feels good after a long day at work.” He pulls out a cloth and sets to work cleaning his sword meticulously.

You stare at him across the fire, this enemy of yours. He sits there like he belongs, and it paralyzes you. When he says, “You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” you can’t even manage a response.

But after he cleans the blade, he works on oiling it, and you find the courage to ask, “Where are my friends?”

He glances up, smiling. “You mean your servants? Oh, I’m sure you’ll be able to call them again once you get to another leyline.” He has an angel’s face and the devil’s eyes, and that smile is hellish in its charm.

“Who _are_ you?” you demand. _What are you_ , you do not say.

He gives a small bow while remaining seated. “Arthur Pendragon, little Master.”

Your breath stops in your throat and your heart pounds. You know the list of available Servants by heart, and in a gasp you say, “There is no Arthur like you.”

His smile becomes smug. “Correct. I’m the only one. Unique. Singular. Myself.” He holds up his blade to examine it and you see the red glyphs that line the dull metal. Then he sheaths the blade in a scabbard you also recognize, sets it aside and pulls out a long knife to tend to.

The moon, almost full, comes out from behind the thick overcast and glints off his golden hair. For a moment, the impenetrable darkness beyond the fire fades and you can see the whole of the lightly forested landscape. Your nerves tighten and you jolt to your feet. “Excuse me,” you announce shakily. “I’ll be right back.”

You turn stiffly and walk away from the fire, toward the nearest trees, as if answering the call of nature. It is a lie. You are fleeing. You want to run, but that will only make him chase you down; that much you saw in the glint of his eyes across the fire.

But as you pass the first tree, the moonlight fades precipitously and the deep darkness descends once more. In the distance, beasts howl and you stop. Anything could be in this darkness. Did he have allies that assisted him in taking down all your Servants? Are you moving from the frying pan to the fire?

The dread overwhelms you and you stand in the darkness for a long, long moment, trying to think rationally. The wind rustles the trees and raises goosebumps along your arms. Your pack and everything you need to survive here is back at the fire. If you can survive the night, you can make it to the leyline and call for backup. All you have to do is not die in the dark.

It is a decision, and you turn to make your way hastily back to the fire. He is gone when you arrive, but the empty spot across from you brings no sense of relief, only a creeping sense of horror. A moment later your horror is justified as he emerges from the darkness again, once again carrying his sword unsheathed. This time it is still clean, and you wonder if he’s disappointed that you returned before he could find you out there.

But nonchalantly he sits down, putting his sword aside. He pulls off his black mail shirt, revealing an ebony shirt underneath, and begins to clean and oil the armor as well. “Be patient,” he murmurs. “I’ll be done soon.”

You let the fire shrink smaller so you can better keep an eye on him, but somehow it doesn’t help. Instead it catches the planes of his face and accentuates them, making him as beautiful as a statue of Satan himself. You stare and stare, but each time he glances up to meet your eyes, you want to flee screaming again.

Soon, too soon, he has finished maintaining his equipment. He rises to his feet, stretching. Then, leaving his sword and his knife and his armor in a heap, he moves to the pile of fuel and tosses on a few twigs and then a bigger log.

As the fire crackles and grows, he moves to crouching in front of you, a backlit silhouette against the flames behind him. “Work’s done. Time to play. But first, this.”

He’s holding a small flask out to you.

“What is it?” you ask warily.

“A hero’s courage,” he says, smiling.

 _Alcohol_ , you think, and decide a little courage never hurt anyone. You take a gulp and a syrupy tangy fire slides down your throat, unlike any booze you’ve tasted yet. It clings to your lips and the inside of your mouth.

He caps the bottle and puts it away. “Do you like it? I harvested it myself.”

Nervously, wondering what you actually drank, you say, “Aren’t you having any?”

“I prefer it this way,” he says, and kisses you. His tongue sweeps across your lips and into your mouth as he laps at the remaining stickiness, and the fire you swallowed pools in your stomach. For a brief moment you find yourself thinking he isn’t so bad.

Then he lifts his head and the wild grin lurking in his eyes tells you just how wrong you are.

“There we go. Now just lie back and think of Chaldea—”

Your hand moves almost without thinking, fueled by the fire spreading through your veins. You smack his face—or try to. But he catches your wrist and the wild grin spreads from his eyes to his mouth.

“Ah, the _stupidity_ of a hero’s courage. But don’t worry. I won’t kill _you_. That would be so… boring.”

Despite his words, he releases your hand and wraps his own around your throat, lifting your chin as he presses on the base of your jaw. With his other, he unbuttons your top and unlatches your bra. As his fingers caress your uncovered breast, you realize that you aren’t afraid at all anymore. The fire in your veins and the heat growing between your legs have entirely banished fear.

You wonder if you could kill him and your eyes go to the pile of weapons and armor nearby. He lifts his own gaze from your body and sees the direction of your thoughts. His mouth quirks again. “The feeling isn’t mutual, I see. Good.” His thumb moves over the tip of your breast and he massages it. “Perhaps one day, if you’re strong enough, you’ll have me at your mercy, to slay or claim as you like. But tonight…”

He tilts his head at the howling of monsters. “It’s _not_ a good night for such a delectable morsel as yourself to sleep alone. All sorts of bad types could come along and eat you.” Once again his gaze slides down your body. “Well, perhaps later.”

His hand moves a bit more but he appears lost in thought for a moment. Then he releases your throat and breast and sits back. “I’ll tell you what. You can get that knife right now and plunge it right into my eye. Right here, see?” He taps his left eye. “Or slide it across my neck,” and he draws a finger across his throat, lower than where he was holding you. Then he opens his shirt. “You can also go for the heart—” and he thumps his muscled chest. “But I wouldn’t suggest it. It’s quite a bit more work.”

He leans forward again. “The blood all over you after will get stiff overnight, and animals will be drawn by the scent. And of course you’ll be quite alone.” He winks. “Now, shall I fetch it?”

You stare at him, paralyzed once more. Breathing seems hard, and his bare chest is just as responsible as his offer of violence. He looks at you a moment more and then rises, fetching the blade. He places it at the end of your bedroll, within easy reach, and then settles himself before you again, once again focusing on your breasts.

This time, his touch explodes through you, a shock from the tip of your breast to your spine and between your legs. Your head jerks back and you gasp aloud. He catches you behind your back, neatly shucking off your top in the process, and then leans down to put his wet mouth on your unhandled breast.

The fire from the hero’s courage is like a tidal wave rushing through you. Suddenly your pants are far too tight, and far too much of a barrier. You squirm against them and he understands, helping to slide them off. As he removes your underwear, he chuckles. “So wet and eager already.”

You run your hands over his hard chest, feeling the tight buds of his nipples against your palm and the softness of golden hair against your fingers. But as he lifts his head and grins at you again, you growl as you remember the urge to kill.

“Ah, you want to play too.” He rearranges the two of you and then unbuttons his pants, freeing his cock. It gives you a moment to reflect,

You stare down at the rigid flesh, thinking of the knife he’d also offered you. You are aware that whatever the hero’s courage was, it has intoxicated you somehow. But the relief from fear is genuine and it leaves room for other feelings. The dangerous urge to kill, but also the heat coiling in your stomach and the need rising in your core.

And as your mouth closes over his cock, you feel proud of yourself for rejecting the knife. It is no way to make friends.

He strokes you as you suck on him: from the top of your head all the way down your back, over your ass and to your core: just a brush there, like a lightning bolt each time. Over and over his hand moves as your mouth does, as your tongue swirls around his flesh and his cock grows harder and larger. Soon it is his nails dragging down your back instead, scratches that burn your flesh like his courage burned your throat.

Then he is dragging you off him and pulling you into his lap, spearing your core with his cock. He slides in with a hard shove, and as you’re still gasping, lowers you onto your back so he can slowly start sliding in and out. The friction, the _texture_ of him is exquisite. Long lines of pleasure stretch through you, vibrating harder with each thrust.

“I think I like how courage manifests in you, little Master.” His eyes are glittering.

“I want you…” You bite your lip and shiver at the crest of pleasure as he pushes even deeper. “I want you to come work for me.”

He chuckles. “Are you thinking of this as a down payment on a contract?” You hadn’t considered it that way, exactly, but if it worked—

“But I prefer it like this: I kill all of your bodyguards and then I come to you. You lick their blood off me and take my cock in your mouth and — ah — here we are.” He finishes in a whisper directly in your ear.

Discomfort flickers under the courage and the pleasure. He lifts his head and you are reminded that this man is some kind of psycho murderer, your enemy, maybe the enemy of the world. And here you are—

He moves again, and, yes, here you are. He’s hot and hard between your legs and his golden eyes are magnetic. He sees your confusion on your face and he laughs, thrusting harder, faster, driving your hips against the earth beneath your bedroll. You can feel the silky fabric of your top bunched against one cheek, and in the distance you can again hear the howling of monsters. It is nothing compared to the monster on top of you.

The vibrating lines of pleasure all go taut at the thought, and you slide into a pleasure peak so intense your vision goes white. After, you are trembling and your core feels sated—but he isn’t done. He keeps going, rubbing himself against your oversensitive flesh.

You thrash and squirm uncontrollably at the sensation, and his only response is to pin you down firmly and keep going, in and out. And after a while, your core warms to him once more and the long lines of pleasure start twanging again. You feel helpless against him, with the stink of your own sweat in your nose, mingling with the smell of earth and blood and rust and dragon scales.

When he speaks again, his voice, smooth as steel, digs into your psyche, leaving furrows that will never quite fade and that make you shiver and shake. “And yet I’m considering it. Have you really thought it through? What will that one girl, Mash? What will she think if you come back with me?”

The thought wakes fear again despite the courage, and you hate it. He muses, and you hate that more. “It _would_ be an interesting way to destroy Chaldea from the inside, though.” His eyes open and his eyebrows go up in mock surprise that doesn’t stop that wicked grin. “What’s that? You don’t want that? You’ve changed your mind?” You’re shaking your head frantically, you realize.

He leans down and whispers, “Smart girl,” and you can’t bear it. You have to stop him from talking more. His words are like knives in your mind, cutting you the same way his cock fills you.

So you kiss him instead, and he goes along with this, letting you fall into a half-conscious daze of fucking and kissing. You retain only the most limited situational awareness as you groan and beg beneath him, until finally you are completely limp. His seed, hot and thick, gushes into you and spills out as he finally pulls himself away.

Then he is lifting himself up from you, leaving you to squirm instinctively into your bedroll against the cold. You fall swiftly into unconsciousness, barely aware of the man or the night in your utter exhaustion.

But it is not an easy sleep, and you wake several times through the night. Each time, you are aware of the shadowed figure sitting beside you, one knee up as he keeps the flames fed. You finally awake for real sometime after dawn, to a dying fire. You ache all over: your thighs, your back, your arms and mouth. You are naked and sticky, and your hair is a bird’s nest. And you are alone. The blackened Arthur is gone, along with his armor and his twisted Excalibur.

But when you sit up, you find the knife he offered you remains, driven into a note pinned to the ground. It reads,

_Next time, I’ll show you how to use this._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm leaving this open for future chapters, for those nights when I have an idea but not enough brain to make it fit Ignis Chaldea.


End file.
